


Amelia Witch Story

by nandroidtales



Category: Amelia Bedelia Series - Peggy Parish
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-27
Updated: 2021-02-27
Packaged: 2021-03-19 00:00:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,889
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29741871
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nandroidtales/pseuds/nandroidtales





	Amelia Witch Story

>After an unfortunate, but thankfully temporary, injury Anon was left needing a maid to keep his home in order  
>A *live-in* maid  
>It was no easy task just to find any cleaning service who would help him, but one who could dote on him twenty four-seven  
>He hated the idea of someone staying to keep the home clean, but doctor’s orders were to keep away from strenuous activity and insurance wouldn’t cover any sort of extended hospice care  
>Desperate, now, Anon plumbed the depths of Craigslist for help, scrolling and scrolling through its pages  
>Casting off those too expensive or too dodgy even for his own situation, he settled on her, on “Amelia”  
>She seemed kind enough and competent at her work, and her rates were low  
>Suspiciously low  
>But no matter, Anon figured, it would only be for a month or two at most, no way it could go *horribly* awry  
>It’d be a day before she arrived he noticed, mustering his meager energies to hobble about and prepare her a place  
>He only had the one room he sheepishly observed; best to take the couch for the time being out of some sense of decency

>There was a knocking at the door, a delightful redhead standing, smiling, behind it  
>”Hello! My name’s Amelia Bedelia, and I’ll be your maid for a time!”  
>”Oh! You came quick, wow! Please, come in,” he gestured  
>”Gladly!”  
>Hauling a meager suitcase behind her the man ushered the maid through his narrow little apartment, past the few accoutrements he’d prepared for her and to her room  
>”And here’s the master bed.”  
>”It’s a nice bed, sir, but… where will I be sleeping?”  
>”Here, the master bed.”  
>”But you hired me, sir,” she paused, eyes narrowing in confusion. “It’s your room. Right?”  
>She dragged her hands out in front of her, trying to piece together the bedroom in her head for some missing mattress where she’d be sleeping  
>What was up with this lady?  
>Genuinely, there was some disconnect here that Anon wasn’t seeing, and it was worrying him  
>”Alright... Think of it as the... Maid-ster bedroom?”  
>”Okay...,” she whimpered, still painfully unsure  
>Wandering inside she set her things down, the man enraptured in the strange, gentle swish of her hair where it wasn’t locked tight underneath her bonnet  
>She was weird, sure, but nothing out of this world- it’s what he got for browsing for help on craigslist, he supposed

>In the intermingling weeks Anon cursed himself for his damnable mind- if he had a nail he’d drive it into his forehead and save himself the trouble  
>Amelia was kind, sweet, but oh so confusing  
>She stumped Anon at every turn, whether it be understanding simple directions in astounding and perplexing, but often impressively incorrect, ways  
>But there was more to Amelia that was dragging him down  
>The flushing red of her face when she realized her mistakes, the childish snort to her laughs, the warmth of her fiery hair  
>Anon was in love  
>With his maid  
>And he’d been trying, and failing, to speak to *her*, not sure if she was just being polite or seriously didn’t understand  
>He knew she knew, the sympathetic glimmer in her eyes whenever he thanked her for something or helped her with chores as his vitality returned  
>But whenever he made a proper advance she flubbed it up in spectacular fashion  
>Anon jumped the gun and asked her on a date; she produced the wrinkly fruits seemingly from nowhere  
>Pressing harder he asked for a kiss; now she summoned up the small chocolates, presenting them in a gloved hand (she was allergic, she clarified)  
>There was no remorseful shadow over her face for turning him down, quite the opposite, but he could never get through  
>Even being overly literal wasn’t getting him anywhere, just leading to more convoluted rejections from the maid as her term neared its end  
>Anon knew once she disappeared from his home he’d likely never see her again, it’d be a stab through his heart to see her disappear  
>He had to take drastic action, something to free himself from her tricks

>”Amelia,” he coughed. “I need to tell you something.”  
>”Yes, Anon?”  
>He stared down, avoiding her gentle, blinking eyes  
>The light caught on her face and bounced from her button nose to him  
>His hands wormed around, anxious, finally taking their place on her shoulders as he met her gaze  
>She let out a little peep, the warmth underneath her uniform bleeding through to his cold, shaking hands  
>”Sir?”  
>”Amelia,” he began, voice wavering. He’d caught onto her game, and knew how to ask.  
>“I would like to have penetrative intercourse with you, in a romantic setting. If you’ll have me,” he sputtered  
>Her face shrunk, darkening  
>There was no glimmer in her eyes, no exuberant, coquettish smile to entice him further  
>She nodded before disappearing into her bedroom, Anon following her warily  
>Naked already she laid on the bed, stone still and emotionless as he crept into the room  
>”A-Amelia?”  
>She didn’t speak, though whether by choice or otherwise he didn’t know  
>”I-I’m gonna get undressed now,” he gulped  
>Shutting the door behind him he took a spot on the bed beside her, the maid staring at the ceiling beside him  
>Laying next to her his skin turned to gooseflesh, fingers twitching in the growing cold  
>”What the…,” he mumbled, breath fogging in the air  
>He reached to grab her, to pull her away  
>Sticking and grabbing her stone cold skin pulled at his hand, the man ripping it free with a scream  
>”This is what you wanted, yes?”  
>”Not like this, no!”  
>Rising from the bed he ran nude for the door, slamming it behind as a wailing grew in the room  
>What did he just invite into his home?  
>A Vampire?  
>No, those didn’t exist. Moron.  
>Then what? What is she?

>It’d been about a week since the ‘incident’  
>His apartment was brutally cold, frost crusting to the moulding along the walls and floor  
>He’d frantically been tracing back Amelia’s history to the best of his ability, the person, or creature or whatever she was still idle in his room, muttering occasionally  
>He’d lay his head down to sleep on the stiffened couch to hear the ethereal whispers of her calling to him  
>The siren song was seductive, enticing and so warm in the deepening Winter in the apartment  
>But there was a whimpering, mournful murmur behind it, pleading for someone to help  
>”I’m trying,” Anon mumbled again, “I’m trying.”  
>Paydirt  
>Tracing a long and muddy line back across, and even before, the internet he found him, her first employer  
>A “Mr. Rogers”  
>Donning his heavy winter coat he tried the door, the locks solidified with ice  
>His car key dangled in his hand, biting his skin where the metal met it  
>The fire escape  
>Slipping out the window and down the perilous staircase he watched the knob to his- *Amelia’s* room free itself, jiggling ferociously  
>Scattered bits of ice skittered across the ground and to a stop as he raced down the escape  
>He only had so much time to stop her  
>Fleeing his marginal apartment block in his car, warming up for the first time in days, he made way for the hidden home of her employer  
>The car pulled him farther and farther from the city, yanking him away into the broad, snowy uplands of the country and to a minute cottage settled far and away from civilization  
>The automobile ground and sputtered through the snow towards the home, lurching to a stop far from its welcoming porch  
>Trudging through the dense drifts Anon pounded on the door, the rush of wind nipping his cheeks as a storm came on  
>The door cracked open, a tired, green eye staring back  
>”Who are you? What’s your business here?”  
>”It’s about… Amelia,” the man shivered back.  
>The eyes widened, knowing  
>Swinging the door open he pulled the younger man in, the steamy warmth of something cooking returning the color to his pallid cheeks  
>The rotund man settled into one the plush leather chairs surrounding the fireplace, taking a deep sniff at the simmering stew away in the kitchen  
>”So… It’s finally happened to you, then?”  
>”I don’t follow, but I guess, yeah.”  
>”It was bound to happen,” he grumbled, sting regret clawing at his words. “I should’ve tried harder when- Never mind that. You’re here for answers?”  
>”What else would I be here for?”  
>”Right, you’re right,” he sighed. “Eventually we let Amelia go for messing too many damn things up. Always misinterpreting things- I think that’s part of the spell.”  
>”Spell?”  
>”Oh, well- let’s take you back. I did some learning once she was dismissed,” he grunted, rising from his seat  
>Taking up an ancient tome in his hands and slapping it on his coffee table he began flipping through it  
>”You see- what was your name?”  
>”Anon.”  
>”You see anon, when we sent Amelia out I wanted to trace back time, to find out where she came from. That’s what led me here.”  
>”Lemme ask you flat out- is she a vampire?”  
>”What? No those don’t exist, you moron.”  
>”Oh.”  
>Sniffing off the interruption he flipped the dusty tome open, panning from page to page until he found it  
>”Ah! Generational Witchcraft. You see, Mister Anon, the Bedelia family were once a much more aristocratic bunch, *they* were the ones hiring maids. And maids, often, were the first to take the blame for witchery.”  
>”So you’re saying she’s a witch!?”  
>”No, no- her family hired one, and then had her condemned. Salem, 1692.”  
>”No…”  
>”Yes. And when a powerful witch dies that way they are liable to attach themselves to the family, creeping and crawling, waiting for some trigger to take hold of their host. Amelia is such a host, unfortunately.”  
>”A… A trigger?”  
>”Yes. Witches are creatures of sin, of Satan. They need only an unwitting fool to try something with their host and they’re freed.”  
>Anon gulped, fingers rolling and rattling along the neatly upholstered arm of his own chair  
>The crackling fire was bearing down on him, *too* warm now, burning and hot  
>”And if they’re not, uh, freed?”  
>”Then they’re harmless, trapped inside their host. They can compel her about and try things, but at the end of the day she’s fine- wait,” Rogers glared, eyeing the man up and down  
>A bead of sweat traced its way down Anon’s forehead, stinging in his blinking eyes  
>”What did you do,” Rogers growled, grabbing Anon by the cuff. “What did you do!”  
>”Nothing, nothing,” Anon yelped  
>Lowering him, fists trembling, he apologized  
>”I see… so we should be fine.”  
>”And what… What if I did? Trigger things?”  
>Rogers curled his lips, a manic fire building in his glassy eyes  
>The room shivered and rolled around him, an iron-stenched crimson filling his vision  
>”I want you out of here, now.”  
>”But I need to-”  
>”You don’t need anything! You’ve damned us all!”  
>The man flung forward from his chair yanking the other from his and pulling him to the ground  
>”Stop, man, stop,” Anon shrieked. “I’m trying to save her!”  
>”You’ve killed her is what you done,” the man screamed between exchanges of blows  
>Anon reared his legs up, kicking wildly to push the old man off of him  
>On his feet again he pulled his fists up, the rotund man scrambling for balance  
>Rolling up again Rogers took a pugilist’s stance, years of practice and competition summoned forth once again  
>”Come on then, scamp!”  
>”Dammit dude! I’m trying to help her!”  
>”You’re killing her you dumb bastard, how long’s it been? A day, an hour?”  
>”A week,” he sputtered. “But I can still save-”  
>A fist rocketed forward, cracking Anon in the head and sending him reeling  
>”Some man you are!”  
>Two more jabs connected with his torso, his diaphragm spasming in shock and lungs fluttering for breath  
>”Help me, dammit,” Anon coughed, falling to the ground  
>Rogers’ nostrils flared in disbelief, standing overtop the crumpled man  
>”Only thing that can save her now is divine intervention,” he kicked, Anon hacking again. “Now get the fuck out.”

>Trudging through the thickening drifts of snow to his derelict car Anon tried it, engine sputtering to meager life- enough to escape the small farm  
>Aching along the emptying highways the weather was turning, quick, snow floating violently to the ground as his car struggled for grip  
>Mercifully he made it into the city, hours spent swerving on slick pavement and panting after near-misses with the few others on the roads  
>”Divine intervention,” he wondered  
>That was it  
>If he could gather together enough holy men, maybe he could exorcise the vile woman sitting inside the unassuming maid  
>Fishtailing through the city he ground to a stop outside a synagogue, pounding on the door for aid  
>”Whut izzit,” the rabbi questioned, annoyed  
>”Please, rabbi, I need your help,” Anon panted, “exorcism, or something- just please, help.”  
>”Exorcism schmexorcism, that’s a loada rubbisch.”  
>”Please, sir, I need your help for this!”  
>”’This’?”  
>”I’ll explain on the way, just come on!”  
>”Ohh, there better be something good here…”  
>Cramming the bearded man into his car Anon sped away, sliding to and fro searching for the towering minarets of the singular mosque  
>Tires squealing and slipping around on the icy roads Anon gunned the engine, jerking the grumbling rabbi back and forth as he dodged around other struggling motorists  
>Smashing side-long into the curb Anon tumbled out and through the doors of the mosque, the lone imam disturbed from his place prostrate on a prayer mat  
>”Mister Imam, sir, I need your help!”  
>Looking up at the man, rising to his feet, he glared  
>”What! What is it then, out with it!”  
>”Do you do,” he paused, rolling his eyes. “Exorcisms, do you them? Can you try?”  
>”I suppose, I suppose,” he nodded, tagging behind him  
>Jumbled in the back together with the rabbi, the two keeping an amicable distance, Anon wrenched the wheel around towards the nearest church, a steeple peeking through the alleys and brick walls around them  
>Twisting into place, side dented by a lamppost, Anon barreled through the terminal doors of the humble church  
>”Heavens,” the Father yelled, ducking  
>”Father I need you!”  
>Oh no, you’re much too young…”  
>”Wha- Not like that! There’s an exorcism to be done!”  
>”O-Oh, right! We do those…”  
>Yanking the priest after him and cramming him in the back Anon started the perilous race to his apartment, the weather worsening still as hail pelted and dented his car  
>”So,” he stammered, hands shivering on the wheel, “you guys uh, like sports?”  
>No answer  
>Moron

>Slamming into the brick exterior of his building he whipped the other three out and up the fire escape, escaping the fuming wreck beneath them  
>Anon kicked in the window to his arctic apartment, the growing chaos and disarray inside evidence enough  
>Amelia had already escaped her room, the idle figure uniformed again and surrounded in a hellish orbit of household appliances and debris  
>”Come on,” Anon screamed amid the growing roar and crackle of infernal magic  
>”We need you to buy us time,” the rabbi shouted back  
>”HOW?”  
>”Grab her, yank her down! Something!”  
>Anon marched through the whipping torrent of air, a can blasting off his head, a toaster into his side  
>Grunting and gritting his teeth he forged through the final layer of fluttering papers, a sickening criss-cross of cuts covering his skin  
>Grabbing the floating girl, eyes aglow and hair jumbling violently, he tried to pull her down  
>”Let her go! Please!”  
>Anons body thrummed with static energy, every hair put on end and his hoodie discharging angrily, stabbing his skin  
>”You have no power *little man*,” a voice not hers chided. “You cannot stop me! The Bedelias will pay for their crimes!”  
>Anon clung for dear life, desperately kicking to lower the floating woman to the ground  
>”No, but they can!”  
>A baritone chorus came from the men, the grumbling chants of Hebrew, Arabic and Latin thinning the air of debris  
>A circle of flame rounded Anon and the maid, clouds of static receding as her hair fluttered down gently  
>The voice damned the men battling her back, spasms along the frail maid’s limbs kicking Anon away as he grabbed on for dear life  
>”You can’t have her!”  
>With a thunderclap of condemnation the building was silent, the orbiting clutter slamming to the ground as windows across the city shattered and dissolved  
>Anon held the lifeless girl in his arms, the holy men excusing themselves from the scattered wreckage in his apartment  
>”Amelia, please,” he cried. “Please…”  
>Her face was still, eyes shut in slumber  
>Hovering over her pale face he placed a singular kiss on her cheek, the chaste little peck he’d been saving for so long  
>Laying her down he cupped his head, racking sobs shaking him, drapes flapping in the intruding wind  
>A meager whimper touched his ear, nearly lost in the hostile wind but caught and held in his ear and pulled to his core  
>She was gone, he knew, tears trailing down his face and onto hers  
>”...Anon,” a voice whispered  
>He uncovered his eyes  
>”...I told you… I’m allergic to kisses…”


End file.
